


Anchor and Sail

by Pixeled



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Costa del Sol (Compilation of FFVII), I may have written fluff?, M/M, Vacation, Valenwind, Vincent is uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: “Not everyone notices a treasure when they see it,” Cid shrugged. “Good thing I do.”
Relationships: Cid Highwind/Vincent Valentine
Kudos: 38





	Anchor and Sail

“Hey, sugar tits,” Cid said, approaching Vincent from behind. The man was without his signature red cloak and leather, but he was wearing a black turtleneck sweater that was cut to fit into his gauntlet and the right arm of the sweater hung over the top part of his bare hand. He was also wearing dark wash jeans that hugged his slim hips low and Cid had to admit that he was looking.

“What did you just call me?” Vincent asked, turning around quickly. He was wearing sunglasses that were all wrong for his face. Cid would have to rectify that later.

“Sorry sorry, I keep mistaking you for one of my old girlfriends from behind,” Cid chuckled. “And you _do_ realize it’s blazing balls out here today, right? Must be ninety? Ninety-five degrees? Could cook eggs on yer fuckin’ sweater.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Vincent grumbled. “My eyes are tearing up from the sun and I’m wearing what they claimed were maximum UV light protective lenses.

“You do know what vacations are for, right, Vince?”

“Never been on one, so no,” Vincent shrugged, looking down at Cid. He was wearing board shorts with 50’s pinup ladies on them (he wasn’t even born yet at that time) and flip flops, carrying a folded up umbrella and two beach towels and two chairs.

“That’s sad, string bean.”

“Stop calling me that,” Vincent said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Wouldya rather I call ya toots, toots?”

“String bean is….fine I suppose. In comparison.”

“Okay. Let’s get out there.” He started to walk—waddle, really—toward the sand. Vincent sighed and collected all of the things Cid was carrying. They were dragging on the floor anyway. Cid complained, which honestly annoyed Vincent, but he handed him back one item. A towel, which was held aloft by the end of a talon tip. Cid glared. Vincent smiled. 

Setting up the towels, chairs, and umbrella took all of fifteen minutes. Vincent plopped onto one of the chairs, crossed his long legs, and pulled out a book from his bag. Plants That Kill: A Natural History of the World's Most Poisonous Plants. Cid blinked down at him. Vincent looked up at him and tilted his head.

“That’s what you’re reading? On a beach?”

“I forage for things and hunt when I go on missions for my teammates in the WRO. Always good to know this stuff. And I find the mechanisms which makes plants poisonous fascinating.”

“Nerd.”

“You’re a _literal_ rocket scientist, Captain,” Vincent smirked. 

“And you, string bean,” Cid said as he crouched down to place his forefinger on Vincent’s elegant nose, “are your father’s son.” He ran off and dove into the water before Vincent could retort. Vincent glared after him, opened the textbook to his place, and began reading. 

He hated being compared to his father, but even though he’d never completed his education he was smart as a whip, inquisitive, adaptive (to a point—he _was_ stubborn), and seemed to just _know_ things. He could map a place by just being there once, and vice versa, he could look at a map just once to find his way somewhere. He didn’t like or trust technology, so he never relied on it. Maps made sense to him. He could visualize them. He had a photographic memory. Which was just fine to Cid, because he had a military background and he’d relied on maps then. They rode in the Tiny Bronco enough, just the two of them and a map spread out over the cockpit, cap of a red marker in Vincent’s mouth as he marked off destinations, clawed hand resting on the edges just to hold it down. Cid flew, Vincent steered them. They were a good team.

An hour later Cid came trudging out of the water panting and plopped gracelessly next to Vincent. 

“Brought ya a pretty shell.” He held it out to Vincent, who took it and examined it. It was iridescent. He turned it this way and that, then dropped it in his bag.

“No more gifts.”

“It’s not a gift if it’s from the planet.”

“Mmm. Gifts from the planet are okay, I guess.”

Cid grinned, tucking that information in his mind for later.

“You ever been on a boat, string bean?” 

“Once, but…not good memories.”

“Wanna make some good memories on one? I’m a pretty good captain.”

“From the seas, to the skies, to space itself, Captain.”

“You’ll make an old codger blush.”

“Yeah. Boat’s ok. You booked it already, didn’t you?” 

“Yup. It’s a little bigger than a sailboat. It’s got a name.” He grinned.

“What’s the name?” Vincent asked. 

“Sea Biscuit. I think it’s cute.” 

“When do we set sail?”

“Now,” Cid grinned. “Let’s get this stuff back to the hotel and change and we’ll set off.

“I’m not changing,” Vincent insisted.

“Fine, but I gotta or I’ll fry. Wanna rub some sunscreen lotion on me?”

“Not particularly.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll do it though.”

Again, Vincent stole all the items from Cid. He complained about not looking manly and Vincent raised a brow as they walked back to the hotel. Vincent rubbed a copious amount of 120 strength sunscreen lotion on Cid, getting everywhere the sun might hit on his bare skin and through his clothes, then he flopped on the two beds they’d pushed together, in the middle, arms and legs extended like he was about to make a snow angel.

When Cid was done he had to coax Vincent to get up. He complained that he was comfortable and that the evil daystar was not vexing him in the hotel where he’d drawn all the shades. But he did get up. He took his bag and arched his back, popping every bone in his vertebrae. Cid made a disgusted face and then they were out. 

The boardwalk was busy, but not as busy as Vincent thought it might be. When they arrived at the appropriate boat, a man was tending to her. His skin looked weathered, there was white in his beard, he was chewing on a toothpick, a white and black hat was perched upon his head, and a black kerchief was tied about his neck. 

Cid and this man shook hands, strong and friendly. 

“Navy?” Cid asked.

“Yup. Army?” The man nodded at his dog tags.

“Yup. Cid Highwind.”

“Seamus Fitzgerald. Not a Navy man, but I assume you’ve had your fair share of boats?”

“You could say that. I’ve manned many large lassies.”

“Then my Sea Biscuit is in good hands.” He turned to look Vincent up and down. 

“Old friend of mine,” Cid explained. “He dresses like that all the time.”

The gauntlet caught Seamus’s eyes but he made no comment. “Right. Bring ‘er back by three.”

“Aye, aye,” Cid said, saluting the man. He saluted back. Cid and Vincent climbed up onto the boat and Seamus untied her. Cid made his way to the helm of the Sea Biscuit and felt the lacquer on the wood, impressed, and put his hands on the wheel, starting to take them out on the sea.

“That was…awkward,” Vincent sighed.

“Not everyone notices a treasure when they see it,” Cid shrugged. “Good thing I do.”

“Whatever,” Vincent said. “I’m an anchor weighing you down and you’re the sail. You know that, right? I don’t know why you keep me around.”

“Easy, string bean. I love ya. If ya like this, we’ll come back when it’s night time. We can pick out the constellations. I’ll anchor ‘er and we can lay on the the deck together, side by side.”

“I’d…like that.”


End file.
